Conscious Decisions of the Heart (19 page)

“Maybe not the best time, Squeezy?”

“Yeah. Course. Sorry. But, fuck, I mean…what’s it like? I mean, I don’t get it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing fucking against it, I guess, I just don’t—”

“You’ve got a girlfriend, right?”

“You’re damn right I fucking have. I’m not fucking—”

“Okay, then let me describe a typical week for you, okay? I’ll do this once, and then I’m going to sleep, because this hasn’t been a good day for me. Right, Monday you phone her to arrange to see her and she’s seeing friends but she might fit you in—”

“Well, she’s got a lot of—”

“Tuesday, you see her, but she’s not in the mood, because she’s had her nails done and—”

“Hey, come on, that’s fucking—”

“Wednesday, you do cop off with her, but she doesn’t want to mess the clean sheets and makes you do it—”

“This isn’t funny, Diesel, you’re fucking way off—”

“Thursday, she’s round at her mum’s and—”

“Her mum is—”

“Friday’s the big night, right? You’ve looked forward to it all week. She’s up for it, too. You go to bed and it’s over, and then it’s Saturday, and you’ve got a fucking hangover—and she goes shopping. How am I doing so far?”

“You’re a fucking barrel of laughs, you are, mate. And your new arse-bandit lifestyle’s fucking better, is it?”

Ben actually felt cheered up. He just replied, “Yes,” turned on his side and began, very slowly, to relive in his mind every moment of his life with Nikolas, which had indeed been very much better than that.

§ § §

Kate arrived with Gabby mid-morning. Kate had wanted to wait for some communications she’d sent to Russia, and Gabby explained she’d gone briefly into work before first light to catch up on everything she was missing. They’d just reconvened their planning group when Ingrid came in. “Ben, the police are here.” Gabby shot to her feet.

“No!”

Ben put his hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Gabby, they may have some good news.”

She sat back down with a sheepish smile. “Of course, I’m sorry.” She rose again and hugged him tight. “Oh, I do hope so.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head and went out to meet them.

They wanted him to come down to the station with them again. They had a few more questions, they said. Ingrid went immediately and called Jans LaCour. Ben kept asking them if they’d found anything, but they stared stonily out of the window, occasionally commenting to each other on some personal concerns as if he didn’t exist—as if Nikolas didn’t exist. He hadn’t expected a young policewoman from family liaison making him endless cups of tea and offering sympathy and Hobnobs, but he’d expected more than this.

He was led back to the interview room he’d been in before. This time, Jans was waiting for him. Ben, being English, had always assumed anyone who asked for a lawyer when being questioned was naturally guilty, but he’d never been so grateful for anyone’s presence before. When he was asked, “
How did you sustain the rope burns to your wrists, Mr Rider? How would you describe your relationship with Mr Beck, Mr Rider? Can you explain how, after he ties you down and beats you, he goes missing, Mr Rider? What did you do after he hit you, Mr Rider?”—
instead of trying his best to be helpful, to explain, as he had before, which made him stutter with suspicious confusion, “
It was a game. He likes to…I mean, I like him to…well, it was only because I was annoying him about making
him pregnant. I mean, that was a joke, but I hadn’t let him smoke and he burnt me on the hand. No, I mean, that was another argument earlier,”—
now, LaCour sat there next to him, a hand on his arm, and all the police got out of him was, “
My client has already answered this sufficiently. That isn’t relevant. My client isn’t required to answer that.”

Ben
wanted
to answer. He was desperate to help, but the relief of not having to go over it all again was immense. How could something that had been such fun between them be made to sound so twisted? Nikolas tying him up slowly, dragging it out, kissing him as he did…the laughter, the teasing, the total focus on each other and their pleasure…the mock interrogation, the beating and spanking, the kissing each bruise better…

He was released again after two hours. Ben begged LaCour to try and get some information out of the detectives about the progress of the investigation, and reluctantly they told him they were doing exactly what he was, concentrating on empty houses on Aeroe. It was winter; it was an impossible task. They mentioned a request for assistance they’d lodged with the mainland and the possibility of sniffer dogs if the weather improved.

Ben couldn’t contain himself. It took all LaCour’s skill to persuade the detectives that arresting Mr Rider for threatening behaviour was not going to help their resource problem. They warned him to stay on Aeroe again and not to conduct his own investigation, which they were well aware he was doing. They tried to get details of Kate and Squeezy from him, but, once more, Jans refused to allow him to answer. By the time he staggered out into the daylight,
he
believed he was guilty. He’d have gone back in and confessed—just to have it over with.

He returned to Ingrid’s to find Kate and Squeezy had gone to the docks, and Gabby had gone back to work. He slumped in Ingrid’s living room and she brought in some coffee. He looked up as she came over, and at his hopeless, heartbreaking expression, she wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Ben, don’t…We’ll find him. I’ve told my grandson not to come. You can stay here as long as you need.”

“I’m so sorry to bring all this down on you. I didn’t mean any of this to happen.”

She sat down and poured them both some coffee. “I’ve been thinking about things, Ben, trying to think of any way I can help. I’m eighty-two, so I don’t think I’ll be storming in on the rescue with you. Look, I’ve drawn a timeline of what’s happened so far, and it’s rather odd.” He opened the folded paper with her. “See, here you are bringing Radulf to me, and then here Aleksey—Christian—is taken. But Radulf comes to me because, here, I heard a noise in the night, and you said to me he barks at—”

“My God. Yes, the night before…he went ballistic at a deer. Nik, I mean Aleksey—
Christian
—reckoned he saw it. I was sleeping, I stayed in bed. He had to bring him up in the end. Oh, fu—I mean, someone came to the house that night—was watching us! Radulf heard them!”

“More to the point, Ben, I think
they
heard
him
and realised they had to get him away, or they’d never get the access they wanted.”

“So they faked a disturbance here, knowing I’d come over with Radulf?”

“Yes. Ben, goodness, I’ll have to set you some extra homework, you’re being very slow today—but I’ll forgive you just this once. The point I’m making is whoever has done this knows a great deal about
you
. Knows you know me, that you lived here, that we’re friends, yes? That you’d come if I called you. You
must
tell the police this.”

Ben groaned. “No! Please!”

But she made him. They called Jans, then the police, and this time the detectives came. Ben almost laughed. Ingrid had taught them both, and suddenly it was a deferential, “Yes, Mrs Jacobson, no Mrs Jacobson,” and Ben was treated with a little more respect—until they got him in the car and out of her sight. They appeared to be taking this new lead seriously, however. Once more, he was put in the interview room. They took him through his whole time on the island and everyone he’d met; anyone he could think of he’d angered or annoyed. They took a break, and when they came back two hours later, they had a coloured folder, which Ben didn’t like the look of. “Mr Rider, can you tell us about the events on the afternoon of fourteenth July in London this year at the house of a Mr Nikolas Mikkelsen? I believe you were questioned by New Scotland Yard?”

Ben stuttered, “I—I—was in Paris! You can—”

“Ben, you don’t have to answer this. My client—”

“You went to Paris with Mr Mikkelsen, I believe. Is that right, Mr Rider?”

“Ben, don’t—”

“You lead a very…colourful life, Mr Rider.”

“This isn’t relevant—”

“All right, Mr LaCour, we’ll move on. Mr Rider, can you confirm what your relationship is with Nikolas Mikkelsen?”

“We’ve already pointed out that this line—”

“Was Christian Beck aware of your relationship with Nikolas Mikkelsen? I believe he’s also local to Aeroe? Both Danish. Did Christian come here to Aeroe to spend Christmas with you and find out about Mr Mikkelsen from one of the people you know on Aeroe? Is that what happened? Did you fight about Nikolas Mikkelsen?”

Ben began to laugh hysterically, tears running down his face. Did they fight about Nikolas Mikkelsen? Yes. They did. That’s exactly what they’d fought about.

Jans insisted on a break. They brought some coffee and the questioning went on. “Mr Rider, how do you support yourself?”

“Ben, don’t—”

“Mr Rider, you’ve a car worth over eight hundred thousand Krone in your name. You’ve been here on Aeroe for almost six months, and in that time you’ve paid Ingrid almost ten thousand Krone for your keep, but you’ve not worked. You don’t appear to have worked since leaving the army five years ago. Where does your money come from, Mr Rider?”

“Where are you going with this line of—?”

“Are you a male prostitute, Mr Rider? Are Christian Beck and Nikolas Mikkelsen clients of yours?”

Ben didn’t even realise he was on his feet until he heard Jans snap, “Ben! Sit down! This interview is over now! My client isn’t answering any more of your questions.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Rider, I’ll rephrase that. Does Christian Beck give you money in return for sex? Did you ever accept money from Mr Mikkelsen in return for sex? Are you currently, in fact, receiving an amount of some two hundred and sixty thousand Krone a week from him? Did Christian Beck find out about this money, Ben? Ben, are there other older men you take money—? All right, we’ll take a break. More coffee, anyone? Interview terminated by Detective Inspector Ulf at two thirty p.m.”

§ § §

“Interview resumed by Detective Inspector Ulf at three p.m. So, Mr Rider, Christian Beck isn’t the only man you’ve been in a relationship with who’s come to an unfortunate end, yes? Mr LaCour, this
is
relevant, and I
will
ask this question. I refer to Nathan Stones. Mr Stones died in suspicious circumstances whilst in a relationship with you, did he not, Mr Rider?”

“This is completely irrelevant, and my client—”

“I’ll decide what’s relevant. I think this is
highly
relevant. Answer the question, Mr Rider.”

“Ben, say nothing. We’re not answering any more questions. Arrest Mr Rider if you have any evidence. If not, we’re leaving.”

“Detective Inspector Ulf ending the interview at three ten p.m. Thank you, Mr, Rider, that will be all. Please don’t leave Aeroe.”

Ben rode with LaCour back to Ingrid’s. He just sat, staring out at the passing, frozen landscape. He felt as if he’d been in an accident and someone should be rushing up to check his vital signs. No one was though. As soon as he got into the house, he went to his room and took a shower. He felt filthy.

Did he live off older men’s money?

Was he paid for sex?

He could actually see this succession of older men—Christian Beck, Nikolas Mikkelsen, Aleksey Mikkelsen, Aleksey Primakov—he punched the shower wall and bloodied his knuckles—then panicked. What if the police saw this now? He tried to calm down. He came out and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d never hated his own reflection before. He did now.

§ § §

When Kate and Squeezy returned from the port, they stood and stared at Ben until Ingrid bustled them away for coffee, whispering, “Let him be. He had a hard time with the police.”

Ben had shaved his hair off down to a buzz over his hard, tanned skull, and he hadn’t done it very well. He’d scraped his scalp, hacked it, and it was bleeding. Gone was the designer stubble. He was lean and starved and bitter looking. No more relaxed and much-loved pretty boy.